


You’re Not Exactly Subtle

by PatchworkKat



Series: Athros Chronicles [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatchworkKat/pseuds/PatchworkKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A list of not so subtle ways Dorian learned the Inquisitor was interested in men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated explicit for later chapters.

The fire danced with each flick of his staff, lighting up the wolves in front of him. The air reeked of sweet, blood, and singed fur but each blast of magic sent a semi-orgasmic pulse of pleasure through him. To his right Athros was pumping out his own fire. It was thick, powerful, and far less artistic than Dorian’s but just as beautiful. Where Dorian danced with his magic, Athros sent it out with brute force. Each stab of his staff through the air an imagined punch in the enemies gut. 

When the last one fell the elation was too much to contain. Dorian let loose a bright and happy laugh as that last fire ball whizzed past Varric’s ear and ended their enemy. “Haha! I could do this all day!” 

Athros gave a breathy laugh in response as he caught his breath. “Mmmm, I would prefer to do you all day.” 

“What?!” Dorian swung around so fast he nearly hit the inquisitor in the face with the end of his staff. 

“What….” Athros turns nearly as red as his hair, a lovely dusky color. Um, Varric’s calling me I need to make sure he’s okay.” 

“I’m not calling you.” 

“Yes you are and you sound like you’re in so much pain. No, no don’t move. I’ll come over there. You poor, glorious dwarf.” With that he skittered across the battle field and right out of the conversation. 


	2. Chapter 2

_I am not in love._ Dorian lied to himself over and over again. He knew loving another man would only hurt him. Even worse, loving a man like the Inquisitor could destroy him. Yet he found himself watching the man as he made his rounds, visiting Solas and Leliana’s scouts. He would stop to ask Fiona about her son, if she’d heard word about him. Though she never gave a name she would give a quiet little yes or no and a sad smile that would urge Athros to hug her and promise to help if she ever decided to reach out to him. 

Dorian pretended to study this tome or that, or browse the spines of various useless manuscripts while he waited impatiently for his turn. It made him feel like a child again, whining for his father’s time. Only each word from Athros seemed more precious. A little pearl scavenged from the muck that was his usual conversations in Skyhold. _I am not in love with him._ Another lie to seal those feelings that tried to burst free when Athros’ smile was final just for him. 

“Do you ever sleep?” The elf settled next to him and observed the same random shelf Dorian had been milling over for what seemed like hours. “ _The Road to Divine, Religion and the Fade, Are the Dalish Cannibals_?” The last title had his interest. “If this is what you’re mulling over I can answer that easily. No, we are not cannibals. You shems have such odd ideas about us.” 

“Yes, well I much prefer the dancing naked in the moonlight version of those tales to the kills your first born to appease their gods.” That earned him a laugh and the light, chime of it was a better prize than anything in the markets of Minrathous. 

“Sadly I’ve never danced naked in the moonlight to appease the Creators. That would be a lot more fun than long silent ceremonies with sharp needles.” 

“So you’ve never danced naked in the moonlight? Pity that.” 

“I never said that.” Athros gave him a wink. “I just didn’t do it to appease the creators, and it had nothing to do with my magic.” 

“Well I’m sure she found it very magical anyway.” 

Another prized laugh and a gentle bump of shoulders. “Oh I’m sure _**he**_ did.” Athros snagged the offending book from the shelf and turned to saunter down the stairs. “Excuse me while I find some where to burn this. And get some sleep! We wouldn’t want bags under those pretty eyes.” Dorian watched the man go and let out a low groan of frustration. _I am most certainly in love with him._


	3. Chapter 3

Dorian’s room in Skyhold was nestled back in an alcove away from the main hall. In fact most people missed the door entirely. It was set just behind a low row of built in selves and a long, low bench strewn with pillows and cushions for a comfortable read by the alcove’s little window. Even before it had been cleaned up, Dorian knew the room, and its accompanying alcove, would be perfect. 

Of course, he’d been proven wrong before so why should this be any different. It wasn’t long before the rest of Skyhold found that lovely little nook tucked away from prying eyes. Almost nightly Dorian would come home to an illicit coupling with the vibrant pillows of his now avoided reading bench spread across the floor. He’d seen more bared breast in the last week then he’d ever cared to. 

The worst incident happened a month in. When he opened the door late one night, entirely intending to find his way into archives and not expecting the alcove to be occupied so late, he found two men in very familiar positions. One on his knees, head bobbing up and down, and the other pressed against the wall directly across from Dorian’s door with his legs spread wide and his eyes pinched shut in ecstasy. 

Back of his head or not, Dorian would recognize the Inquisitor anywhere. That hideous tan suit was obvious enough. Long fingers curled into that vibrant red hair and some nameless scout shuddered as Athros let out a low moan over his cock. His hips snapped forward as he climaxed, crying out the inquisitor’s name. 

Dorian knew he should look away and shut the damn door, but he couldn’t stop staring. A slick, wet pop sounded as Athros drew his head back so he could smirk up at his lover. His laugh, deeper and sexier than Dorian had ever heard it, sent a shiver down the mage’s spine. “Still with me Neren?” 

“Hmmm?” Neren, or so the elven scout seemed to be called, slowly opened his eyes. That dreamy smile died entirely when his eyes locked onto Dorian. “Um… Sir there’s…”

“Please Neren, you hardly have to call me sir when I’m sucking you off.” Athros gave another little laugh before following Neren’s gaze. The second he spotted Dorian he shot to his feet, hands instinctively attempting to cover his obvious erection, hidden by hideous tan trousers as it may be. “Dorian! I… what are you doing here?” 

Neren was hastily fixing his own clothing and inching away behind Athros. “This is my room.” Dorian prayed the arousal wasn’t as evident in his voice. There was nothing he could do to hide the bulge in his own trousers but at least Athros wasn’t looking. Or was it a bad thing he wasn’t looking? Dorian couldn’t quite tell. “I was trying to get by.” 

“You said the room was empty.” Athos shot a glare over his shoulder at the elf behind him who had quietly slipped partly out of the alcove. “Where are you- oh that’s just lovely.” Neren bolted, determined to get out of the awkward situation. Which left Athros alone to deal with everything. “Sorry, Dorian I’ll um… spread the word this isn’t as empty a spot as people think. Try to make things easier on you.” With that he gave an awkward little nod and tried to bolt away himself. 

True to his word, Athros managed to quietly clear out the alcove. In the weeks that followed Dorian only once happened upon a couple. Empty as it may be it did nothing to dislodge the image of an arouse Inquisitor at his door. Which Dorian would argue was far more distracting. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is based off of the post dragon slaying drinking fest with The Iron Bull.

Baron Plucky had driven Dorian, and everyone else, out of the library when he decided he didn’t like the sound of rain. Dorian had to agree with the bird that the constant droll of a two day down pour was maddening, but he couldn’t quite forgive him for what he was sure was a bald spot on the back of his head. At least it felt like the damned thing had plucked out all of his hair in his little tantrum. 

After escaping what he was sure would make a lovely horror story (Messenger Birds: Barron Plucky’s Revenge), Dorian had retired to his room. Now he lounged across his bed, a small army of pillows supporting his back, with every candle lit as he tried to make out the strange symbols on the book before him. 

When someone knocked on his door he ignored it at first. When it grew to an insistent hammering he threw a spare tome at the door hoping the visitor would get the message. “Dooooriaaan!” The whine had him shooting out of his bed and half hopping across the cold floor to the door. He threw it open to the sight of the Inquisitor drenched to the bone and grinning like a fool. “Bull. Has. The. Best. Stuff.” He swayed as he spoke and punctuated each word with a poke to Dorian’s chest. 

“Are you drunk?” It wasn’t much a question. The little elf reeked of alcohol and if it came from The Iron Bull, then the poor thing was in for a nasty hangover. “Just, stand right there. I’ll get you a towel.” Each step towards his linens was met with the squashing sound of the Inquisitor’s boots on his plush Orlesian rug. Apparently a drunken Athros didn’t know how to stay put. 

Fluffiest towel in hand Dorian spun to watch in a mix of awe and horror as Athros struggled out of his wet clothes and threw them one by one onto his carpet, small clothes and all. No man was impressive when shivering from a winter down pour, but it didn’t stop Dorian from looking. “’M cold.” Athros’ whine brought the Tevintor’s attention back to his face. 

“Right, cold. Um, here.” He tried not to shudder when cold water seeped out of his carpet and through his toes. Instead he focused on drawing the naked man in front of him. A very erotic task if the man wasn’t so horribly drunk. “Let’s get you warmed up and in bed, hmm? Last thing I need is to be the ‘Vint’ that gave the Inquisitor pneumonia.” 

Somehow that earned him an adorable little giggle. By now the Inquisitor was leaning against him, half for support and half to leech his body heat. “You want to get me in bed?” Athros gave him what he assumed was meant to be a kiss on the lips but ended up square on his chin. Which the elf then glared at as if it had moved on him. “I want you to take me to bed.” 

Drunkenly said or not the words sent a rush of heat through Dorian. “No.” His mouth was suddenly dry and the word barely made it past his lips. “Maybe when you’re sober we could-“ When he turned to look at the inquisitor he found the man had fallen asleep on his shoulder. “Oh you are a cruel one aren’t you? You had better remember this you bastard.” 

He tucked Athros into his own bed, opting to curl up on his low couch instead of risk the dangers of cuddling the naked elf. In the morning all he could do was glare and mutter little unhappy phrases as he nursed the very sick, and very confused Inquisitor back to health. Because of course the man only remembered agreeing to a drink and not what happened after. 


End file.
